fic: Dysphrenia
Title: Dysphrenia
Author: dria1029
Pairings: Ontaehyun, ot3 (Ontae, Jongyu, Jongtae)
Genre: Psychological, Suspense, Angst, Romance(< --- if you can call it that…)
Warnings: Rape (of minors), abuse, language, graphic imagery, het!
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Taemin more than witnesses the crimes of his physician.
Word Count: 3,500+
a/n: K so…if you are terribly confused by the end of this, either I did something really right…or really wrong haha. This came to me because I was going to admit myself into a mental hospital once and I remember being afraid of being taken advantage of in there, if you know what I mean. If anyone cares, I’m sort of okay now. ;))
Taemin had always thought Junghee was a pretty girl. Ever since the doctor escorted her into his room, it had been hard for him to look away. She had long brown hair, bubblegum pink lips and really fair skin, as white as the standard cotton cloth, pant-and-shirt set Taemin and all the other patients wore every day.
He was told she was going to be his new roommate, and Taemin was even more elated. Minho, a suicidal friend of his and his old roommate, had been evaluated and sent home a few days ago. He was lonely now.
Bunking with a pretty girl would be interesting. In the “real world” he could never approach one. Being “crazy” and all.
Everybody said he was crazy.
But Dr. Lee didn’t think so. Dr. Lee (“Call me Jinki,” he smiles, correcting the younger-which is very often) reassured Taemin that he wasn’t crazy at all; he just required a little more maintenance than other people. Taemin was a special boy. Taemin was kind-hearted and every bit as important to society as anyone else. Besides, what did it mean to be “normal” anyway?
Dr. Lee was Taemin’s favorite doctor. And he hoped that Dr. Lee would be Junghee’s favorite doctor too, so they could have something in common aside from the fact that they were two teenagers in a mental facility.
But everything worked out better to Taemin’s advantage. Dr. Lee, instead, became fond of Junghee first. The girl was diagnosed with selective mutism so of course, the pretty voice Taemin assumed came with the pretty face was never heard. At exactly 3:00 in the afternoon, the nurse rolled in with her cart to administer Taemin and Junghee their medications; straight after she left, Dr. Lee strode in smilingly, coat pristine white as always and clipboard in hand. He addressed Taemin warmly like normal, but when he talked to Junghee…there seemed to be more of a spark. The girl would usually stick to her stoic stare, mostly down at her fingers, but occasionally, there would appear a ghost of a smile in the side of her lovely lips.
Even Taemin knew no one could resist the doctor’s silly jokes.
Dr. Lee made a game of it sometimes-he and Taemin holding nonsense conversations with Junghee, who turned out to be an avid blusher even though it was obvious she tried not to look engaged. The doctor had informed the both of them that these exercises were essential to Junghee’s “mental growth”, as she had a very traumatic childhood and missed out on a lot of school because of neglectful parents. He reiterated how critical it was that she be spoken to on a daily basis, how that though recovery would be a delicate process, it wouldn’t be as long of a road if she learned, in safer surroundings, that it was okay to be afraid -convincing her she didn’t have to be afraid would come later. All too eager to help, yet flustered at the times when Junghee covered her ears during their conversations, Taemin had tried not to rudely ask why Dr. Lee insisted on the exercises instead of giving up. Accepting that Junghee had nothing to say.
To which the doctor replied in that gentle smile: “Just because she hasn’t spoken yet doesn’t mean she doesn’t have anything to say.”
He said this with his fingers interlinked with Junghee’s smaller ones, their joined hands resting on Junghee’s lap. It was the first time Taemin had seen them in that kind of physical attachment and he couldn’t help but be curious. Especially since Junghee was acting like it was no big deal. That or she was off in her own world like usual; the latter he leaned more towards.
Dr. Lee had made a good point though, so Taemin smiled back in determination. He wouldn’t allow himself to get discouraged helping his new, pretty friend.
So even in Dr. Lee’s absence, Taemin talked to Junghee. All patients who weren’t outstandingly dangerous were allowed intermediate hours outside. In the restricted perimeter, they were permitted to roam the garden, courtyard, and the small field just past the cafeteria building. During those times, Taemin sat with her in the garden, on a shared marble bench. As Junghee sat apathetically and gazed ahead into the brush, Taemin demonstrated his gift of gab. He held hands with her. Smiled at her. Sang her the songs his mother sung him.
He was never acknowledged, never ever. But it felt good to have a friend. He wasn’t lonely anymore. Even the times where Taemin would strangely lapse into silence and sit expressionless as she were good times. The orderlies who kept a special eye on he and his companion didn’t have anything to worry about, nor did the frowning, muttering specialists.
Sometimes, they’d just be there on that bench. Holding hands. Motionless, with a platonic smile threatening to grace the girl’s lips for no particular reason. Taemin always caught it. It made his day.
And after a while, he realized that it just didn’t matter if she ever talked again. He wouldn’t mind if they could stay like that in the garden forever.
So it was ironically he who gave up on Junghee first.
Dr. Lee, however, became tireless enough for both of them. His talks with Junghee were longer, delved deeper. He didn’t include Taemin as much, which didn’t bother the boy as much as he thought it would. It didn’t mean much to him either that Dr. Lee was holding hands with Junghee a lot too, or that he rubbed her thigh or affectionately caressed her cheek. Taemin knew he and Junghee always had their bench in the garden.
Taemin couldn’t blame him for liking her as much, though. She was just so pretty, so enigmatic. Everything about her was alluring, down to the way the plain hospital garb fit her so she looked like a snow princess. A princess in white, elastic pants.
Because he was a sheltered only-child, the boy barely knew the meaning of jealousy, so he didn’t quite understand the winds of change Dr. Lee brought along. Now the doctor only told Junghee how special she was; everything he said Taemin he now said to Junghee, and it was hard to tell if those encouraging words still applied to Taemin as much as they did for Junghee.
Dr. Lee spoiled Junghee with extra desserts at lunch and dinner; like he’d done once upon a time for Taemin. Now, Taemin was barely spared a side glance. Now, if the doctor ever did acknowledge the poor boy, it was either with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes…or a look of elusive displeasure.
That is why the first night “it” happened, Taemin was shocked out of his skin.
Patients were locked in their rooms after lights out. No one was supposed to come in, no one went out. Taemin didn’t hear the door click open or the sound of footsteps. He was facing the wall as he slept, so he couldn’t have seen the tall silhouette creep over to Junghee’s side of the room.
But when he turned to the other side, the movement slightly awoke him so that his eyes slid open groggily. With the help of the nightlight, whatever he saw would be unmistakable.
That’s when he spotted an unsmiling Dr. Lee. Hand shoved down Junghee’s pants. The hand moving in a rough, steady motion under the white cloth. Junghee was staring wide eyed at the man hovering over her, yet it was unsurprising that she hadn’t uttered a peep.
Taemin watched, shutting his eyes to slits so he’d be more discreet. Granted, he’d always had the compulsorily bad habit of staring at others, but at least he had enough sense to know that spying wasn’t a good idea.
He had never seen Dr. Lee be so rough, least of all to patients. Least of all to Junghee. She didn’t struggle under him, though he still pinned her down by her neck. He didn’t peel off his coat or shirt; there was jingling as he undid his belt buckle with one hand, followed by the rustling of his pants sliding down his thighs-stopping at his knees. Junghee’s panties were rapidly, harshly tugged-removed along with her pants. The cot creaked with his awkward, antsy ministrations.
Taemin could only watch up until that point, however. He turned back to the wall, his own eyes wide open in terror. The jangling of the belt buckle was as deafening as the rail frame of Junghee’s bed slamming into the wall. The deep, heavy panting was just as disturbing as the sniffles, hiccups and squeaks. More than all of that was what Jinki whispered to Junghee.
“Just hold still, I’ll be done in a moment.”
“I don’t know why you don’t talk to me, baby.”
“Oppa doesn’t mean to hurt you, I promise.”
“Don’t cry. It will feel good soon.”
“Please moan for me, let oppa know everything is okay.”
Taemin had to wonder what Junghee could have done that she deserved such punishment. He thought she was the favorite. Why wasn’t Taemin being the one punished? Wasn’t he the dirty, used rag Dr. Lee didn’t love anymore-shouldn’t he be the one mistreated?
Junghee was prettier than Taemin, frailer, a flower-so why did it sound like the doctor was breaking her?
He curled into a ball waiting for the sounds to end. They were wetter as they picked up in pace, much to the boy’s growing discomfort. It only got worse before it got better-when everything was silent again except for Dr. Lee’s shallow breathing.
More rustling. The doctor asked Junghee if she could stand up, then there was even more rustling.
“Promise oppa you won’t tell anyone, Junghee-ah? We have to keep this secret. Something this special has to be kept secret…okay?”
There was something that sounded suspiciously like a kiss.
Then footsteps coming in Taemin’s direction instead of the door.
“You’re not going to tell anyone,” filtered down Taemin’s ear in a darker tone, a hand squeezing his shoulder. Neither a question nor a plea. In fact, nothing less than a threat.
Taemin curled tighter into himself with a low snivel. “N-no sir.”
A short chuckle. The hand rubbed up and down Taemin’s sleeved arm now. The voice back to being light and deceptively kind. “Ah, Taemin-ah. I know I can always count on you.”
“Dr. Lee?” The boy blinked at the wall. The tall shadow seemed bigger than the doctor actually was. Scarier.
Perhaps it had always been that way. He was probably this way all along.
“Jinki,” the silhouette corrected pleasantly.
“Jinki…why did you punish noona?”
The mechanical rub stopped. Taemin cringed in the silence until the hand went to pat his head.
“No questions, Taemin-ah,” the doctor cooed. “Go back to sleep.”
He was gone a few moments after he told Taemin that, but that didn’t mean Taemin would or could comply. He hugged himself, refusing to look over at the mute girl. The mystery of what he’d see was scarier than the doctor’s shadow.
But the next day was peculiar, and it was only the beginning.
Junghee was her usual self despite the horrific hand-shaped bruise on her milky neck. It didn’t seem to bother her; like she had no pain at all. One of the nurses took her down to a unit in the hospital that specialized in bruises. The doctors, including Jinki, ruled it as a suicide attempt or early signs of *Munchausen syndrome. No one was with her but Taemin, and the teen had no history of harming others or himself; he was a good friend, one who looked after Junghee. So…?
He was questioned and orderlies were put on watch, just to be more safe than sorry.
Taemin didn’t find it worth complaining about the searing pain of his own neck, though. All he could think to do was blame it on sleeping the wrong way and worry over Junghee. To be fair, his neck hurt way too much for that excuse to be behind the internal injury, yet what else he could do?
It became a cycle.
Dr. Lee came in at night a few times out the week. He came to punish noona, came with the same promises. Ended the evening with a kiss to the center of her forehead . A while passed, to where Taemin just said forget it and watched anyway. He couldn’t help it. He wished he could.
Not like it had never been an open invitation for him to watch anyway.
Taemin found that out the night Dr. Lee forced Junghee on her knees, on the tile floor. The doctor was sitting on the cot with the girl’s head bobbing in between his thighs-pants and boxers at his ankles, belt strapped around her neck like a collar on a dog. She choked a lot, from both the belt and Jinki’s cock, and of course the piteous noise alerted Taemin. He reluctantly shifted on his elbows so that he could take in what was going on to make her sound so bad.
Jinki noticed him immediately. Between a moan and a lick of his thick lips, he smirked right at Taemin, gripping Junghee’s hair with even more a vice, widening his thighs and tugging her head lower. He winked. Wagged the end of belt at the boy tauntingly.
That wasn’t it though. Taemin mindlessly conformed those rare nights Jinki got greedy, making the youngest assist Junghee in sucking him off. Or ripping Taemin’s pants down when Junghee didn’t sate his carnal needs, fucking the boy raw and rabid; all the while Taemin wishing he was taking this punishment every time in the girl’s stead-because Junghee was too innocent, too pretty for a man like Dr. Lee.
But the teen had made his own promise.
And he knew deep down that the way Jinki would punish him if he said anything wouldn’t be anything like how the doctor “punished” Junghee nightly.
So he didn’t say anything.
For the most part, you could say Taemin stopped talking all together.
The doctors grew collectively concerned as the weeks progressed; most of their attention drawn to, Taemin thought in frustration, the wrong patient. All eyes were on him, which he couldn’t possibly comprehend when Junghee was the one who turned up with bruises. It was just like how Taemin didn’t get why he physically suffered where it was visible that the girl had been hurt, or that although Taemin wore the wristband diagnosing him with *SPD, Junghee was the one who remained indifferent to everything-even in the duration of her abuse-unresponsive, unaffected, and withdrawn. She even stopped crying during Jinki’s visits, staring up expressionlessly into the ceiling or burying her face into the pillow as her body jerked cancerously.
They didn’t do much for the poor girl. She was marked up all over like she’d been attacked with branding irons, and they kept sending her to that hospital unit. She was forced to sleep in a straitjacket sometimes. Her med dosage went up insignificantly. Ridiculous, Taemin scowled in his mind, that they would do that instead of prescribing her new meds or terminating the problem instead of suppressing it.
But was even more ridiculous was that Taemin knew what they didn’t, and that since he was sworn to silence, he couldn’t (wouldn’t) tell them the real reason behind Junghee’s torture.
Those idiots just bothered Taemin. So what that he was aching all over? So what that he was nauseated and limped all the time? The new pills were making him drowsy and worsening his nausea; food too hard to keep down more than ever. He was angry that was he too out of commission to make it outside during recess, and even angrier that if he could, the nurses and doctors wouldn’t let him.
He just wanted to be in the garden sitting next to and locking hands with Junghee.
So what that his health was deteriorating? So what that he didn’t talk anymore. All that could be fixed-would be healed in time.
Just let him see Junghee’s tiny smile in the sun again.
Now there was rumor of the hospital being under investigation because Junghee’s parents were outraged with the mutilation of their daughter’s body. Things were just getting more and more confusing. A dysfunctional kaleidoscope. Taemin’s cocoon of a padded, drugged, and cottony, whitewashed escape-one he’d been wrapped in ever since he was 13 and was sent away here-had turned into his own personal nightmare.
He was tired of being tired. Sick of the sickness, fed up with that bastard Dr. Lee for punishing his sweet, sweet Junghee-noona.
Yet things got even stranger one night. The night when the nightmare drew to a close-more or less.
Taemin was dizzy, drifting in and out of consciousness. He was choking on his own vomit as what seemed like dozens of hands were lifting him out of the bed. Voices buzzed around him, the suffocating smell of blood and semen. It was the middle of the night. Dr. Lee had come in to visit, as usual.
Only this time, Dr. Lee was merely sitting on the cot across from him, dressed as a patient. No glasses, no coat, no clipboard. Immune to the commotion around him. He stared passively in Taemin’s general direction. Much like Junghee…
Taemin’s head swirled. Where was Junghee? Where had they taken his noona?
All through the haze of his vision were the loud men in dark blue suits, some barking into radio transmitters-moving, moving, upsetting and frustrating Taemin even more. The hands set him on a stretcher unceremoniously, yet he went to jump off instantly despite the pain and the abnormal gush between his legs. He had to find Junghee! Where the fuck did they take Junghee? Didn’t they know he was the one who was supposed to protect her? Didn’t they know he was the one who fostered her?
If he didn’t find her he’d never forgive himself. If something happened to her it would be all his fault. It was already his fault he let Dr. Lee touch her. And now that motherfucker was sitting innocently on the bed like he’d done no wrong-Taemin would make him pay one day. He hoped Junghee would forgive him some day.
But first he had to find her. That was all that mattered now.
Taemin thrashed and screamed. For some reason he couldn’t say what he wanted, like his vocal chords and brain had never been programmed to work together. The hands, gloved hands belonging to the frantic doctors and nurses, were reduced to vigorously holding him down now as they reached for the straps on either side of the stretcher. The patient only screamed louder, tears tearing down blotched, bruised cheeks, incoherent gurgles. A bulb syringe was used to clear up the vomit from Taemin’s esophagus.
Yet above Taemin’s own screams and the demands of the medic team that had just arrived, he heard. And, by chance, when some of the dark clothed men parted, he also saw.
Junghee was there.
Only, Junghee was in a white coat just like Dr. Lee and currently being handcuffed, was roughed up against the wall by several of the…they were policemen, Taemin knew now. Junghee was loud and angry just like the policemen…brown hair cropped and face squarer than he remembered. At first Taemin could only stare in astonishment…and bit by bit….it clicked.
Junghee and Jinki hadn’t changed clothes, like he’d initially (foolishly) thought.
Junghee was a man.
Junghee wasn’t his Junghee anymore.
Taemin smiled oddly as the man in the white coat was shoved over and over against the wall from resisting arrest.
“Kim Jonghyun, you have the right to…”
“….calm down! On your knees!...”
“…obstruction of justice…”
“…sixteen-year-old female. 5’ 7, about 125lbs…”
The police kicked at his legs so the doctor buckled to the floor. Jinki twiddled his thumbs nervously at the sight. He meet Taemin’s gaze like the undead. A lone tear fell from Jinki’s eye.
“…I was told I was impotent! I’m impotent! That little bitch came on to me! Do you hear me!? That fucking bitch came on to me! Let go of me you son of a bitch!...”
Taemin turned his head as he was wheeled away. Still smiling, still smiling. Giggling. Pulling up the one arm that was still unrestrained. It was bruised, just like Junghee’s. Oh well, at least the aching made sense now…
Taemin skimmed the wristband before pressuring hands brought his arm back down, fastening it to his side with the strap. Reading it confirmed what he already knew.
Selective mutism.
It was alright though. He could go back to sleep now. It was alright.
“…stay with us Taeyeon! Taeyeon, honey, can you hear me? Stay with us!”
“…pregnancy test. It came back positive…”
“…recently diagnosed her with schizophrenia. They didn’t know…”
“…caught on to the tapes being switched. Jonghyun had the most access so he was prime suspect. All they had to do was set him up…”
“…she’s losing too much blood! She might make it but the baby…”
“…oxygen! Give her the mask!...”
“….me, Minjung! Taeyeon! Somebody please tell me what happened!...”
“….please save my daughter! Save my Taeyeon! Oh God, yeobo, yeobo...”
“..Taeyeon! Taeyeon!....”
Taeyeon’s smiling lips spread grimly, weakly displaying dirtied, bloodied teeth. She relaxed, allowing her eyes to flutter closed, the tranquil darkness replacing the distressed faces and the rushing of the fluorescent lights above her.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________
Dysphrenia [dis-frih-nee-uh]:
noun
Term mix of schizophrenia, a mental order that evokes limpid hallucinations; and dyslexia, a learning disorder wherein one reads things backwards. An individual diagnosed with dysphrenia distorts the line between what’s real and what isn’t-further warping this middle dimension by switching people, places, events, etc. out of context.
* SPD
*Munchausen syndrome
Author: dria1029
Pairings: Ontaehyun, ot3 (Ontae, Jongyu, Jongtae)
Genre: Psychological, Suspense, Angst, Romance(< --- if you can call it that…)
Warnings: Rape (of minors), abuse, language, graphic imagery, het!
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Taemin more than witnesses the crimes of his physician.
Word Count: 3,500+
a/n: K so…if you are terribly confused by the end of this, either I did something really right…or really wrong haha. This came to me because I was going to admit myself into a mental hospital once and I remember being afraid of being taken advantage of in there, if you know what I mean. If anyone cares, I’m sort of okay now. ;))
Taemin had always thought Junghee was a pretty girl. Ever since the doctor escorted her into his room, it had been hard for him to look away. She had long brown hair, bubblegum pink lips and really fair skin, as white as the standard cotton cloth, pant-and-shirt set Taemin and all the other patients wore every day.
He was told she was going to be his new roommate, and Taemin was even more elated. Minho, a suicidal friend of his and his old roommate, had been evaluated and sent home a few days ago. He was lonely now.
Bunking with a pretty girl would be interesting. In the “real world” he could never approach one. Being “crazy” and all.
Everybody said he was crazy.
But Dr. Lee didn’t think so. Dr. Lee (“Call me Jinki,” he smiles, correcting the younger-which is very often) reassured Taemin that he wasn’t crazy at all; he just required a little more maintenance than other people. Taemin was a special boy. Taemin was kind-hearted and every bit as important to society as anyone else. Besides, what did it mean to be “normal” anyway?
Dr. Lee was Taemin’s favorite doctor. And he hoped that Dr. Lee would be Junghee’s favorite doctor too, so they could have something in common aside from the fact that they were two teenagers in a mental facility.
But everything worked out better to Taemin’s advantage. Dr. Lee, instead, became fond of Junghee first. The girl was diagnosed with selective mutism so of course, the pretty voice Taemin assumed came with the pretty face was never heard. At exactly 3:00 in the afternoon, the nurse rolled in with her cart to administer Taemin and Junghee their medications; straight after she left, Dr. Lee strode in smilingly, coat pristine white as always and clipboard in hand. He addressed Taemin warmly like normal, but when he talked to Junghee…there seemed to be more of a spark. The girl would usually stick to her stoic stare, mostly down at her fingers, but occasionally, there would appear a ghost of a smile in the side of her lovely lips.
Even Taemin knew no one could resist the doctor’s silly jokes.
Dr. Lee made a game of it sometimes-he and Taemin holding nonsense conversations with Junghee, who turned out to be an avid blusher even though it was obvious she tried not to look engaged. The doctor had informed the both of them that these exercises were essential to Junghee’s “mental growth”, as she had a very traumatic childhood and missed out on a lot of school because of neglectful parents. He reiterated how critical it was that she be spoken to on a daily basis, how that though recovery would be a delicate process, it wouldn’t be as long of a road if she learned, in safer surroundings, that it was okay to be afraid -convincing her she didn’t have to be afraid would come later. All too eager to help, yet flustered at the times when Junghee covered her ears during their conversations, Taemin had tried not to rudely ask why Dr. Lee insisted on the exercises instead of giving up. Accepting that Junghee had nothing to say.
To which the doctor replied in that gentle smile: “Just because she hasn’t spoken yet doesn’t mean she doesn’t have anything to say.”
He said this with his fingers interlinked with Junghee’s smaller ones, their joined hands resting on Junghee’s lap. It was the first time Taemin had seen them in that kind of physical attachment and he couldn’t help but be curious. Especially since Junghee was acting like it was no big deal. That or she was off in her own world like usual; the latter he leaned more towards.
Dr. Lee had made a good point though, so Taemin smiled back in determination. He wouldn’t allow himself to get discouraged helping his new, pretty friend.
So even in Dr. Lee’s absence, Taemin talked to Junghee. All patients who weren’t outstandingly dangerous were allowed intermediate hours outside. In the restricted perimeter, they were permitted to roam the garden, courtyard, and the small field just past the cafeteria building. During those times, Taemin sat with her in the garden, on a shared marble bench. As Junghee sat apathetically and gazed ahead into the brush, Taemin demonstrated his gift of gab. He held hands with her. Smiled at her. Sang her the songs his mother sung him.
He was never acknowledged, never ever. But it felt good to have a friend. He wasn’t lonely anymore. Even the times where Taemin would strangely lapse into silence and sit expressionless as she were good times. The orderlies who kept a special eye on he and his companion didn’t have anything to worry about, nor did the frowning, muttering specialists.
Sometimes, they’d just be there on that bench. Holding hands. Motionless, with a platonic smile threatening to grace the girl’s lips for no particular reason. Taemin always caught it. It made his day.
And after a while, he realized that it just didn’t matter if she ever talked again. He wouldn’t mind if they could stay like that in the garden forever.
So it was ironically he who gave up on Junghee first.
Dr. Lee, however, became tireless enough for both of them. His talks with Junghee were longer, delved deeper. He didn’t include Taemin as much, which didn’t bother the boy as much as he thought it would. It didn’t mean much to him either that Dr. Lee was holding hands with Junghee a lot too, or that he rubbed her thigh or affectionately caressed her cheek. Taemin knew he and Junghee always had their bench in the garden.
Taemin couldn’t blame him for liking her as much, though. She was just so pretty, so enigmatic. Everything about her was alluring, down to the way the plain hospital garb fit her so she looked like a snow princess. A princess in white, elastic pants.
Because he was a sheltered only-child, the boy barely knew the meaning of jealousy, so he didn’t quite understand the winds of change Dr. Lee brought along. Now the doctor only told Junghee how special she was; everything he said Taemin he now said to Junghee, and it was hard to tell if those encouraging words still applied to Taemin as much as they did for Junghee.
Dr. Lee spoiled Junghee with extra desserts at lunch and dinner; like he’d done once upon a time for Taemin. Now, Taemin was barely spared a side glance. Now, if the doctor ever did acknowledge the poor boy, it was either with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes…or a look of elusive displeasure.
That is why the first night “it” happened, Taemin was shocked out of his skin.
Patients were locked in their rooms after lights out. No one was supposed to come in, no one went out. Taemin didn’t hear the door click open or the sound of footsteps. He was facing the wall as he slept, so he couldn’t have seen the tall silhouette creep over to Junghee’s side of the room.
But when he turned to the other side, the movement slightly awoke him so that his eyes slid open groggily. With the help of the nightlight, whatever he saw would be unmistakable.
That’s when he spotted an unsmiling Dr. Lee. Hand shoved down Junghee’s pants. The hand moving in a rough, steady motion under the white cloth. Junghee was staring wide eyed at the man hovering over her, yet it was unsurprising that she hadn’t uttered a peep.
Taemin watched, shutting his eyes to slits so he’d be more discreet. Granted, he’d always had the compulsorily bad habit of staring at others, but at least he had enough sense to know that spying wasn’t a good idea.
He had never seen Dr. Lee be so rough, least of all to patients. Least of all to Junghee. She didn’t struggle under him, though he still pinned her down by her neck. He didn’t peel off his coat or shirt; there was jingling as he undid his belt buckle with one hand, followed by the rustling of his pants sliding down his thighs-stopping at his knees. Junghee’s panties were rapidly, harshly tugged-removed along with her pants. The cot creaked with his awkward, antsy ministrations.
Taemin could only watch up until that point, however. He turned back to the wall, his own eyes wide open in terror. The jangling of the belt buckle was as deafening as the rail frame of Junghee’s bed slamming into the wall. The deep, heavy panting was just as disturbing as the sniffles, hiccups and squeaks. More than all of that was what Jinki whispered to Junghee.
“Just hold still, I’ll be done in a moment.”
“I don’t know why you don’t talk to me, baby.”
“Oppa doesn’t mean to hurt you, I promise.”
“Don’t cry. It will feel good soon.”
“Please moan for me, let oppa know everything is okay.”
Taemin had to wonder what Junghee could have done that she deserved such punishment. He thought she was the favorite. Why wasn’t Taemin being the one punished? Wasn’t he the dirty, used rag Dr. Lee didn’t love anymore-shouldn’t he be the one mistreated?
Junghee was prettier than Taemin, frailer, a flower-so why did it sound like the doctor was breaking her?
He curled into a ball waiting for the sounds to end. They were wetter as they picked up in pace, much to the boy’s growing discomfort. It only got worse before it got better-when everything was silent again except for Dr. Lee’s shallow breathing.
More rustling. The doctor asked Junghee if she could stand up, then there was even more rustling.
“Promise oppa you won’t tell anyone, Junghee-ah? We have to keep this secret. Something this special has to be kept secret…okay?”
There was something that sounded suspiciously like a kiss.
Then footsteps coming in Taemin’s direction instead of the door.
“You’re not going to tell anyone,” filtered down Taemin’s ear in a darker tone, a hand squeezing his shoulder. Neither a question nor a plea. In fact, nothing less than a threat.
Taemin curled tighter into himself with a low snivel. “N-no sir.”
A short chuckle. The hand rubbed up and down Taemin’s sleeved arm now. The voice back to being light and deceptively kind. “Ah, Taemin-ah. I know I can always count on you.”
“Dr. Lee?” The boy blinked at the wall. The tall shadow seemed bigger than the doctor actually was. Scarier.
Perhaps it had always been that way. He was probably this way all along.
“Jinki,” the silhouette corrected pleasantly.
“Jinki…why did you punish noona?”
The mechanical rub stopped. Taemin cringed in the silence until the hand went to pat his head.
“No questions, Taemin-ah,” the doctor cooed. “Go back to sleep.”
He was gone a few moments after he told Taemin that, but that didn’t mean Taemin would or could comply. He hugged himself, refusing to look over at the mute girl. The mystery of what he’d see was scarier than the doctor’s shadow.
But the next day was peculiar, and it was only the beginning.
Junghee was her usual self despite the horrific hand-shaped bruise on her milky neck. It didn’t seem to bother her; like she had no pain at all. One of the nurses took her down to a unit in the hospital that specialized in bruises. The doctors, including Jinki, ruled it as a suicide attempt or early signs of *Munchausen syndrome. No one was with her but Taemin, and the teen had no history of harming others or himself; he was a good friend, one who looked after Junghee. So…?
He was questioned and orderlies were put on watch, just to be more safe than sorry.
Taemin didn’t find it worth complaining about the searing pain of his own neck, though. All he could think to do was blame it on sleeping the wrong way and worry over Junghee. To be fair, his neck hurt way too much for that excuse to be behind the internal injury, yet what else he could do?
It became a cycle.
Dr. Lee came in at night a few times out the week. He came to punish noona, came with the same promises. Ended the evening with a kiss to the center of her forehead . A while passed, to where Taemin just said forget it and watched anyway. He couldn’t help it. He wished he could.
Not like it had never been an open invitation for him to watch anyway.
Taemin found that out the night Dr. Lee forced Junghee on her knees, on the tile floor. The doctor was sitting on the cot with the girl’s head bobbing in between his thighs-pants and boxers at his ankles, belt strapped around her neck like a collar on a dog. She choked a lot, from both the belt and Jinki’s cock, and of course the piteous noise alerted Taemin. He reluctantly shifted on his elbows so that he could take in what was going on to make her sound so bad.
Jinki noticed him immediately. Between a moan and a lick of his thick lips, he smirked right at Taemin, gripping Junghee’s hair with even more a vice, widening his thighs and tugging her head lower. He winked. Wagged the end of belt at the boy tauntingly.
That wasn’t it though. Taemin mindlessly conformed those rare nights Jinki got greedy, making the youngest assist Junghee in sucking him off. Or ripping Taemin’s pants down when Junghee didn’t sate his carnal needs, fucking the boy raw and rabid; all the while Taemin wishing he was taking this punishment every time in the girl’s stead-because Junghee was too innocent, too pretty for a man like Dr. Lee.
But the teen had made his own promise.
And he knew deep down that the way Jinki would punish him if he said anything wouldn’t be anything like how the doctor “punished” Junghee nightly.
So he didn’t say anything.
For the most part, you could say Taemin stopped talking all together.
The doctors grew collectively concerned as the weeks progressed; most of their attention drawn to, Taemin thought in frustration, the wrong patient. All eyes were on him, which he couldn’t possibly comprehend when Junghee was the one who turned up with bruises. It was just like how Taemin didn’t get why he physically suffered where it was visible that the girl had been hurt, or that although Taemin wore the wristband diagnosing him with *SPD, Junghee was the one who remained indifferent to everything-even in the duration of her abuse-unresponsive, unaffected, and withdrawn. She even stopped crying during Jinki’s visits, staring up expressionlessly into the ceiling or burying her face into the pillow as her body jerked cancerously.
They didn’t do much for the poor girl. She was marked up all over like she’d been attacked with branding irons, and they kept sending her to that hospital unit. She was forced to sleep in a straitjacket sometimes. Her med dosage went up insignificantly. Ridiculous, Taemin scowled in his mind, that they would do that instead of prescribing her new meds or terminating the problem instead of suppressing it.
But was even more ridiculous was that Taemin knew what they didn’t, and that since he was sworn to silence, he couldn’t (wouldn’t) tell them the real reason behind Junghee’s torture.
Those idiots just bothered Taemin. So what that he was aching all over? So what that he was nauseated and limped all the time? The new pills were making him drowsy and worsening his nausea; food too hard to keep down more than ever. He was angry that was he too out of commission to make it outside during recess, and even angrier that if he could, the nurses and doctors wouldn’t let him.
He just wanted to be in the garden sitting next to and locking hands with Junghee.
So what that his health was deteriorating? So what that he didn’t talk anymore. All that could be fixed-would be healed in time.
Just let him see Junghee’s tiny smile in the sun again.
Now there was rumor of the hospital being under investigation because Junghee’s parents were outraged with the mutilation of their daughter’s body. Things were just getting more and more confusing. A dysfunctional kaleidoscope. Taemin’s cocoon of a padded, drugged, and cottony, whitewashed escape-one he’d been wrapped in ever since he was 13 and was sent away here-had turned into his own personal nightmare.
He was tired of being tired. Sick of the sickness, fed up with that bastard Dr. Lee for punishing his sweet, sweet Junghee-noona.
Yet things got even stranger one night. The night when the nightmare drew to a close-more or less.
Taemin was dizzy, drifting in and out of consciousness. He was choking on his own vomit as what seemed like dozens of hands were lifting him out of the bed. Voices buzzed around him, the suffocating smell of blood and semen. It was the middle of the night. Dr. Lee had come in to visit, as usual.
Only this time, Dr. Lee was merely sitting on the cot across from him, dressed as a patient. No glasses, no coat, no clipboard. Immune to the commotion around him. He stared passively in Taemin’s general direction. Much like Junghee…
Taemin’s head swirled. Where was Junghee? Where had they taken his noona?
All through the haze of his vision were the loud men in dark blue suits, some barking into radio transmitters-moving, moving, upsetting and frustrating Taemin even more. The hands set him on a stretcher unceremoniously, yet he went to jump off instantly despite the pain and the abnormal gush between his legs. He had to find Junghee! Where the fuck did they take Junghee? Didn’t they know he was the one who was supposed to protect her? Didn’t they know he was the one who fostered her?
If he didn’t find her he’d never forgive himself. If something happened to her it would be all his fault. It was already his fault he let Dr. Lee touch her. And now that motherfucker was sitting innocently on the bed like he’d done no wrong-Taemin would make him pay one day. He hoped Junghee would forgive him some day.
But first he had to find her. That was all that mattered now.
Taemin thrashed and screamed. For some reason he couldn’t say what he wanted, like his vocal chords and brain had never been programmed to work together. The hands, gloved hands belonging to the frantic doctors and nurses, were reduced to vigorously holding him down now as they reached for the straps on either side of the stretcher. The patient only screamed louder, tears tearing down blotched, bruised cheeks, incoherent gurgles. A bulb syringe was used to clear up the vomit from Taemin’s esophagus.
Yet above Taemin’s own screams and the demands of the medic team that had just arrived, he heard. And, by chance, when some of the dark clothed men parted, he also saw.
Junghee was there.
Only, Junghee was in a white coat just like Dr. Lee and currently being handcuffed, was roughed up against the wall by several of the…they were policemen, Taemin knew now. Junghee was loud and angry just like the policemen…brown hair cropped and face squarer than he remembered. At first Taemin could only stare in astonishment…and bit by bit….it clicked.
Junghee and Jinki hadn’t changed clothes, like he’d initially (foolishly) thought.
Junghee was a man.
Junghee wasn’t his Junghee anymore.
Taemin smiled oddly as the man in the white coat was shoved over and over against the wall from resisting arrest.
“Kim Jonghyun, you have the right to…”
“….calm down! On your knees!...”
“…obstruction of justice…”
“…sixteen-year-old female. 5’ 7, about 125lbs…”
The police kicked at his legs so the doctor buckled to the floor. Jinki twiddled his thumbs nervously at the sight. He meet Taemin’s gaze like the undead. A lone tear fell from Jinki’s eye.
“…I was told I was impotent! I’m impotent! That little bitch came on to me! Do you hear me!? That fucking bitch came on to me! Let go of me you son of a bitch!...”
Taemin turned his head as he was wheeled away. Still smiling, still smiling. Giggling. Pulling up the one arm that was still unrestrained. It was bruised, just like Junghee’s. Oh well, at least the aching made sense now…
Taemin skimmed the wristband before pressuring hands brought his arm back down, fastening it to his side with the strap. Reading it confirmed what he already knew.
Selective mutism.
It was alright though. He could go back to sleep now. It was alright.
“…stay with us Taeyeon! Taeyeon, honey, can you hear me? Stay with us!”
“…pregnancy test. It came back positive…”
“…recently diagnosed her with schizophrenia. They didn’t know…”
“…caught on to the tapes being switched. Jonghyun had the most access so he was prime suspect. All they had to do was set him up…”
“…she’s losing too much blood! She might make it but the baby…”
“…oxygen! Give her the mask!...”
“….me, Minjung! Taeyeon! Somebody please tell me what happened!...”
“….please save my daughter! Save my Taeyeon! Oh God, yeobo, yeobo...”
“..Taeyeon! Taeyeon!....”
Taeyeon’s smiling lips spread grimly, weakly displaying dirtied, bloodied teeth. She relaxed, allowing her eyes to flutter closed, the tranquil darkness replacing the distressed faces and the rushing of the fluorescent lights above her.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________
Dysphrenia [dis-frih-nee-uh]:
noun
Term mix of schizophrenia, a mental order that evokes limpid hallucinations; and dyslexia, a learning disorder wherein one reads things backwards. An individual diagnosed with dysphrenia distorts the line between what’s real and what isn’t-further warping this middle dimension by switching people, places, events, etc. out of context.
* SPD
*Munchausen syndrome